Currents
by Neko Kuroban
Summary: What if Leigh had not died?
1. Chapter 1

1**Title: **Currents

**Series: **Casteel, specifically Web of Dreams

**Characters: **Luke Casteel, Leigh VanVoreen, Clive VanVoreen (mentioned)

**Warnings: **Same topics as the books. You'll do fine.Also, upcoming violence and alternate universe. There _will _be deviations from the source material - some rather great.

**Disclaimer: **Everything but the kitchen sink belongs to Ms. Andrew's family, estate and ghostwriter. The lawyers from Sears claimed the kitchen sink, insisting that Luke and Leigh don't have a kitchen sink.

**Currents**

"Angel," Luke's voice came in a whisper, accompanied by the sound of the thin, ragged curtain swishing shut behind him. The act shut out the world beyond their small bedroom, silencing the snores of her father-in-law and the scraggy black lab, cutting off the light from the ancient wood-burning stove. "I'm home." He stopped a few feet from the doorway to disrobe. He pulled his threadbare cotton t-shirt over his head, deftly folding it and placing it on a wooden stool that was probably older than either of them. Leigh found herself suddenly ashamed of her smooth wool skirt and thick sweater, both crumpled carelessly on the floor. He bent to pick both garments up, and she admired the way his well-shaped muscles shifted - he looked like a Grecian god in the faint illumination provided from the moonlight pouring through the window.

How long had she been waiting for him? Reluctantly peeling her eyes away from her young husband, Leigh brought her thin wrist closer to her face. She squinted so that she could read the ornate, minuscule numerals engraved on her silver watch. "And it's only on in the morning. Dear," she added as an afterthought. She watched as he kicked off his mud-caked boots, before continuing, words all but dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for remembering and coming home early."

Luke's reaction was as sudden as if she had struck him across the face. His sculpted features contorted with pain, and he drew in a sharp breath, his left hand going to rub at his cheek. The gesture was familiar; it was something he tended to do at his most contrite. "Shi-" He cut himself off with a sudden abruptness. She found herself unable to keep a small smile from playing at her lips, faintly remembering his promise that one golden afternoon so long ago. The day they had met seemed as if it had been so long ago, even though it could have only been two or three months. "I'm sorry, Angel." Slipping out of his jeans, he laid next to her.

"Why are you whispering?"

"I was trying to wake you up," he shifted to his side, trying to make himself comfortable upon the thin, worn mattress. It was a futile effort, Leigh knew. "Seems kinda stupid, now." He commented, falling silently.

"Luke?" Leigh curled into him, her murmur breaking the silence. Throwing an arm over his hip, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"Mm?" He muttered drowsily; a warm, content noise that made the corners of her mouth lift into a smile.

"I love you." Absently, she traced a figure eight in the faintly sunburnt skin of his back. A letter followed, shaped by the tip of a slender finger: _H. _Her finger dipped into a loop, another character following without thought. _E. _

"You too, Angel."

His skin was stretched as tightly as canvas, she recognized faintly, absently making an _A. How hard as he been pushing himself?_ She wondered suddenly, staring at the back of his head, taking in the thick, dark curls. _V._ She was glad she did not see his face; if she did, she would have to see once again his mirror-bright eyes and gorgeous youth and everything he had ahead of him. _E._ Everything he was abandoning for her. She pulled her hand away, letting it fall onto the bare mattress.

"You forgot the 'N,'" he said after a moment.

She exhaled with a faint sigh, wondering how she could tell him. "I don't care that much."

He rolled over to lay on his back, placing his hands behind his head. She nestled closer, laying her head on his chest, a curtain of white-gold silk draping over his torso. He let out a soft chuckle, reaching to tangle his fingers in her long hair. "What do you want?"

She could not do this; the words seemed to turn into cement within her throat. Knowing would only hurt him more, but... _I love him too much to lie. _"Damn!" She swore aloud, tongue tracing her bottom lip. Her small, even front teeth soon followed. "I have something to tell you."

His dark eyes danced with amusement as he flashed her a languid, sensual grin. "Are you pregnant?" He slipped his hand under their threadbare quilt; a moment later, she felt his palm press against her abdomen.

"Luke!" Her voice came sharper than she had intended, and he halted. His hand remained, calloused fingertips warming the cold flesh of her expectant stomach. "This is _important_!"

He sat up suddenly, gazing down at her. "What's up, Angel?"

"I..." she turned her head away at his piercing stare, studying the wall. "Baby," the endearment felt a little clumsy in her mouth. "I got a letter from my father." She reached out for his hand, but he jerked away as if it burnt him.

"_What_?"

"Not Tony," she rushed to clarify, hoping that it would make some kind of difference in Luke's mind. "Not the one who made me leave." Her hand fluttered to her stomach, a strange little habit that seemed to be developing as of late. _Not the one who hurt me, _she did not say. He would know what she meant. "The real one."

His dark, strong brows knitted together. She could not quite place his expression - it was somewhere between consternation and alarm. "The one you said you would write to?"

"I didn't write to him!" Leigh flared hotly, her blue eyes flashing with vexation as she forced herself upright, the simple task made more difficult by her pregnancy. He reached to help her; her stubborn pride made her push away his hand. "I didn't because I knew you didn't want me to! I know we can take care of each other, Luke!"

Luke heaved a deep sigh, swinging his legs over the side of the large bed. Slumps and hands folded in his lap, he looked at her over his shoulder. The betrayed look in his brown eyes caught her off guard; it made her heart twist. "Then how did he _find _us, Angel?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Currents

**Series**: Casteel, V. C. Andrews**  
Summary**: What if things were different…?  
**Rating**: PG-13.  
**Feedback**: Not leaving feedback makes the Flying Spaghetti Monster angry, and we don't want that.  
**Dedication**: To everyone who reviewed. I adore you.   
**Disclaimer**: So… 'Ginny' and me were hanging out the other day, and… xD  
**Notes**: Sorry this was a long time coming.

**Currents**

**Chapter Two**

**Neko Kuroban**

"I haven't read it yet," Leigh confided, going to retrieve the envelope from the open shelf in the kitchen, moving softly so as to avoid accidentally waking Luke's sleeping parents. Even so, her clumsy toes seemed to find every screeching floorboard – some of which did not just whine, but went off with a noise akin to a shotgun. Luke, much less self-conscious, sauntered behind her, his feet as soft as their cat's paws against the bare wooden planks.

"You know," he whispered conspiratorially from behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. She had tied her long blonde hair into two braids – loose and uneven; she had had to, as usual, make do without a mirror except her compact – to sleep in, securing the plaits with a loose strip of lace that she had torn from an old garment. "I'm glad we're married," he went on, "because trying to sneak you in would be hell."

She pointedly ignored him. "Here!" She declared in a soft hiss of breath, snagging the long, thin envelope from within the cracked, empty sugar bowl. She ran her thumb over a corner: in this intimate light, with Luke at her side, it wasn't anything to be frightened of.

He had dragged over a spare pallet so it was against the wall, bathed in the nearly stifling heat of the cast-iron stove: light enough to read by without waking anyone. She perched beside him, stretching out her legs. Before her pregnancy, she had a habit of tucking them under herself, like the prints of elegant Japanese women she saw in her history texts. Luke drew his knees to his chest, hugging them loosely. She looked on with envy; it had been nearly two months since she had been quiet so limber.

She slipped her finger beneath the seal, tearing away at the envelope to reveal a thin, folded sheet of expensive stationary, cut to resemble the Polish cutting paper that her father had adored, always trying to show her the secret to it. (Leigh had quickly devised a shortcut of her own: use a razor blade to cut the paper, and then move onto more exciting pursuits. There were steam rooms and mechanics to explore! Why waste time playing at arts and crafts?)

She unfurled the sheet – not without slight nostalgic longing – letting an attachment fall to the floor. Luke uncoiled himself, moving to retrieve it. Leigh willed herself to avoid looking at him…or at the amount written on the long, pale blue business check.

**Leigh: **

She was immediately struck, not by the cold, impersonal greeting, but by the handwriting: it was tight and terse, without any additional flourishes of serifs.

**Your father has fallen ill. The doctors say that it is a third world disease, one he caught on his travels. **

(This, she would come to realize later, was the exact moment that she started to cry, with a half-strangled gasp for air and a broken sniffle.)

**He has spent the last week in a delirium, crying out for his daughter. I have never made a request as your stepmother. I have never attempted to contact you, nor have you made an effort to communicate with me. If I ever must ask for anything, it is for you to come now. **

There was more, more in her stepmother's hand, more that she could not stand to read, more that she could not bear because she was sobbing like a child in a way that she never had before and Luke's arms were around her and she was clinging to him and… and…

_Oh, God. Daddy. _


End file.
